MOTHER - The Novelization
by FossilsDaDaDa
Summary: My name is Ninten. Yeah, I know, laugh all you'd like, it'll get old soon enough. Anyway, for the first eleven years of my life, being the bearer of that name was the most remarkable thing you could say about me. Then, one day, my lamp attacked me.
1. Author's Note

You're awfully kind, taking time out to read this story. This story loves you!

To answer your very first question, yes, I absolutely plan on adapting all three games.

With that out of the way, I would like to clarify exactly what this is. This is not a retelling of the MOTHER series. Nor is it a narrated play through, a retelling of my experience playing the game, or a story detailing what I imagine was going through the hero's head while on his adventure. This is a series of stories adapting the MOTHER series into cut-and-dried novels. I am going into this with the intention that, even if a reader had no idea what a video game even was, they would still read these stories and enjoy them to their fullest potential. It would be a different experience than that of a fan, certainly, but there would be nothing lost on the terms of the quality of entertainment and emotional experience that the MOTHER series is so renowned for.

If you are a fellow MOTHER fan, and I'm guessing you are since you're here, I feel it fair to warn you that there are going to be liberties made from the original games. This is something that all writers working on adaptations have to face; something that works perfectly fine in a video game might not work at all in written prose, and vice versa. With that said, however, I will do my best to only do this when I feel it truly necessary and welcome. I adore these games as much as you do, and the last thing I want is to see it butchered in the name of "creative liberties". My hope is that this story will capture the same sort of spirit of the original games, while also putting a slightly new and interesting spin on it.

With that said, it won't be just the MOTHER fans in my audience I will have in mind when I write this story, even though they will be the majority. I am sharing this story with my friends and family, many of whom would have never heard of MOTHER otherwise, and even still wouldn't care enough to play it. To me, that's the greatest tragedy of the series: That so few people will ever get the chance to experience it, simply due to the fact that it's in a medium that relatively few people care about or lack the skills or resources to enjoy. (Especially due to two-thirds of the games never reaching American shores, but now is not the time or place to complain about that.) So, with that in mind, here is my request to the fellow MOTHER fans in the audience who happen to enjoy this novelized series: If you have that one friend, or brother, or boyfriend, or whatever, who you really, _really _want to share MOTHER with, but just keep running into "Sorry, don't play video games", I would like to encourage you to share this with them. Because, let's face it, there's a stigma against video games that keeps people from believing they can be as interesting, thought-provoking, emotional, or otherwise as good story-telling wise as other forms of media such as books or film. It's a sad one to be sure, but until the day that stigma is erased, the best we can do is compromise for those who are stopped by it.

On a more technical note, I would like to let you know that this story, at least for the time being, will probably be very slow-going. As I'm writing this, I am in my third year of high school with the given workload of attempting to graduate a year early, which is a very inopportune time in my life to begin writing a series of novels. Currently, the only times I can write are during weekends, or after I'm already in bed. I can give you this assurance, however: I am making sure to write every single day. I never intend for this story to be in a hiatus, even for as short a time as a week. So, to those following this story, I greatly appreciate your patience.

Now, I've said my piece.

Okay s'ka?


	2. Attack of the Killer Lamps

MOTHER'S DAY TIMES

Thursday, November 10, 1904

Local Couple Discovered Missing, Police "Utterly Baffled"

Mother's Day Times reporter George Foster, and his wife, Maria, were announced missing late last evening. Police investigated the couple's home after a neighbor reported "suspicious individuals" seen nearby, and though no signs have been found of a break-in or any sort of struggle, neither of them have been seen since.

"We are... utterly baffled," said Officer Terence Smith, "George's typewriter was out, the piece he had started was cut off mid-word. They had food cooking on the stove, Katherine was asleep in her crib... Their door was still locked, all their windows were intact... [It] was literally as if they had just vanished."

The couple, who last month celebrated the birth of their first child, had been investigating the recent phenomenon believed to be related to the cloud cover on Mt. Itoi. Mr. Foster was last seen walking home from a five-day expedition to the mountain's peak. His and his wife's disappearance happened approximately forty-five minutes after his return to their home.

Authorities wish to once again stress the importance of safety in light of the unexplained activity surrounding the mountain. Doors should remain locked and barred, outdoor activities should be completed before nightfall, and until further notice, all roads leading to Itoi will be closed. Any information regarding the couple's whereabouts must be reported to police immediately.

* * *

So, I guess I'll start with myself.

My name is Ninten. Yeah, I know, laugh all you'd like, it'll get old soon enough. My parents have sworn up and down they had no idea what sort of humiliating atrocity they'd committed when they gave me that name, insisting it means "lucky" or something. I know better, though. My parents are just geeks.

Anyway, for the first eleven years of my life, being the bearer of that name was the most remarkable thing you could say about me. I grew up in a tiny suburban town called Podunk. And that's not a dumb figure of speech or anything, the town I lived in was literally named Podunk. I don't think it was the town all podunks are named after, it wasn't _that_ old, but it might as well have been.

I guess growing up there wasn't really bad, per say, it was just monotonous and lifeless. Every morning I would get up, either to the smell of Mom cooking bacon or the sound of my kid sisters arguing over who's turn it was to walk the dog. I'd dress myself the same way I always did, with the same striped T-shirt and the same red neckerchief. I'd walk to school, try to stay awake for the next eight hours, more often than not struggling under an armload of homework. Mimmie always insisted that I help her with hers anyway, though, so that didn't really matter. And the rest of each day was spent doing what every other kid did when there was nothing better to do: reading comics, watching TV, or playing video games. Every Saturday I rode my bike around town a bit, every Sunday Mom took us all to church, and every so often, if we were lucky, Dad would come home for a few days. I was an okay kid, I suppose, who got okay grades, had an okay family, and if having a few people in your class who didn't annoy the living daylights out of you counted as friends, then yeah, I had okay friends.

Then, one day, my lamp attacked me.

It was a Friday, and, per the norm, I was slaving away over a truckload homework. Unlike most days, though, I was actually making an effort to finish quickly. Dinner was being served earlier than usual, and Mom was making prime rib. I would eat nothing but prime rib for the rest of my life if given the chance. I was struggling against a particularly hard division problem when I heard a weird noise. Like somebody was poking around who shouldn't be.

My head jerked up.

"...Minnie? That you?"

No response; my entire room was completely still. I got up and checked all their usual hiding places. No sign of her, or her twin. Annoyed, I left my half-finished paper on my nightstand and headed for the door. If I was fast, I thought, I could finish it after dinner and still have half an hour before bed. Before leaving, though, I looked over my shoulder one more time. Living with those two, you never could be certain you were safe.

"Mimmie, I swear, if you jump out and-"

It happened fast, and yes, it was exactly as weird as you'd think it was. Without any warning at all, the lamp on my desk suddenly levitated itself two feet in the air and sped toward my head. And I don't mean it hurtled at me as if thrown by someone, I mean it literally hovered steadily toward me like some sort of deformed UFO. The only reason I didn't get my skull broken in right then and there was, out of reflex, I dodged it.

"What?!-"

It came right back at me, losing barely any speed as it changed direction. I put up an arm to protect my face, the glass knocking against my skin with a dull thud. I had a bruise there for a week, but it was better than a concussion. Still acting more out of instinct than rational thought, I grabbed the pot of it with both hands - it felt really hot for some reason - and threw it against the floor. I'm not sure if lamps could be stunned, but that's apparently what happened, and it gave me enough time to get to my bedside and grab my baseball bat. I was prepared for it this time. Putting all of my strength behind the swing, the bat connected, and the evil lamp was shattered. The fragments stayed suspended in mid-air for a brief moment, shuddered, then fell.

"What the… w-wh...?"

I took a draw from my inhaler and leaned back against my door, panting and sore from the fight, trying to take in the fact that my lamp just tried to kill me. How do you explain something like that? Had I suddenly gone nuts? Last I checked, spontaneous insanity wasn't exactly something that happened on a regular basis. Was this some sort of needlessly elaborate joke? I guess it could be possible, but it would be pretty malicious one if it was; that lamp was a millimeter away from breaking my neck.

_ Holy crap, I almost died..._

I had just come to this jarring realization, when a terrified pair of screams sounded from outside my door. From the girls' room.

"Help!"

"Cupid Doll, NO!"

Remembering how fast the lamp had attacked me, I ran to the room, baseball bat still in hand.

The sight inside their room wouldn't have looked out of place in a laughably cheap horror movie, which made it even more jarring to witness in real life. Minnie and Mimmie were clutching each other on top of their dresser, screaming their pigtailed heads off. And on the floor, trying to get them, was Cupid Doll.

_ I _told_ them that creepy thing would murder us in our sleep..._

Cupid Doll was quite possibly the oldest, freakiest looking toy in existence. All the hair and color that had once upon a time made it look like a sweet little baby had been completely lost over the years, leaving behind a hunk of naked plastic. I still remember, when I was eight, begging my parents to get rid of it after having a nightmare where it had tried to drown me in the neighbor's goldfish pond. They wouldn't, and because of this, I now had to witness the sight of it walking around on its own two fat legs. Or... no, not really "walking", it still moved like a toy being played with, it just looked like whoever was playing with him was invisible.

"Ninten, help us!" Mimmie cried.

That's when I noticed, she had a welt on her face. Cupid Doll already got her. Infuriated, I charged into the room.

"Hey, Chuckie, over here!"

Cupid Doll spun around, its ugly face focusing on me just in time to watch me hit it. The doll's head popped clean off, and, just like the lamp, hovered for half a second before falling to the ground, along with the rest of its body. I poked at it with the end of my bat. Yep, lifeless.

"It's okay, girls. You can get down."

They did so. Minnie went to tearfully examine her mutilated toy, while Mimmie just stood there, shivering.

"That... that was so scary..."

"Mim, your face... Are you okay?"

"Uh huh..." She rubbed at the spot; it didn't seem too bad. "Ninten, what's going on?"

"Uh..."

Yeah, I'd almost forgotten; inanimate objects aren't supposed to magically come alive and kill you. And if Mimmie and Minnie had also seen it, it couldn't have been just me reacting to bad applesauce or something.

"Ninten, there's something inside the doll!"

Minnie was holding up some sort of small object, which she'd apparently found inside the doll's severed head.

"Get away from that thing!"

I swatted the head away from her. She squealed in protest.

"Ninten, be careful! He was Grandma's!"

I didn't care, if I was going to sleep in peace that night, that thing was going in the trash.

After the girls had calmed down some, I went downstairs to see if my mother could provide a shred of explanation as to what was happening. I was half expecting to find her in a boxing match with the blender or something, but she seemed to have been spared.

"Are you okay, Ninten? I heard shouting..."

"Mom, my… my lamp… "

"What about your lamp? Honey, you're shaking..."

After taking a moment to get ahold of myself, I described the events that had taken place. Surprisingly, she seemed to believe every word, a look of concern slowly spreading over her face as I sputtered out the story. When I finished, instead of asking me if I had fallen on my head at recess like I was expecting her to, she just stood there, her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and scared.

"Mom...?"

"If only your father were here now..."

"W-why? Mom, do you have any idea what's going on?!"

She didn't say anything, but the look on her face told me "yes". My panic and confusion was giving way to frustration. I didn't enjoy getting angry at her, but when something or someone clearly wants me and possibly others I care about harmed, I'd rather not have their identity kept from me. I had just opened my mouth to speak, when:

_ Ring ring! Ring ring!_

"Oh, the phone!" Mom sounded like she was in some sort of daze, "Could you get that, Ninten?"

"... Sure."

Answers later, then, I guess. Maybe, I should call Dad after this...

I picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Ninten? Hey, it's your dad."

Speak of the devil, he doth appear.

"Perfect timing, Dad."

* * *

"I... I see..."

Dad's reaction had been pretty much the same as Mom's.

"It, uh... it sounds like it must be a poltergeist of some sort..."

"A what? Dad, I'm serious!"

"I know, son, I know..."

His voice was drifting off, as if he was talking to more to himself than to me.

"I'm not sure how to deal with it either... but, your great-grandfather... maybe..."

"Dad?"

He caught himself.

"Is your mom there?"

"No, she went upstairs to check on the girls. Do you want to talk with her?"

"No, Ninten, listen to me. In the basement, there's something that I need you to find."

"The basement is locked, Dad."

"Ah, yes…"

One of Dad's more confusing habits was always locking the basement door before going outside, whether it be for thirty seconds to get something out of the car, or thirty days to go to work. We had all asked Mom many times why he did this, but she just kept assuring me it was nothing for us to worry about. I had never been down there, but I hadn't thought until now that he was hiding anything more significant than his favorite golf clubs or something.

"I know I left the basement key somewhere... I just don't remember where..."

"I'll find it somewhere. Just tell me what I'm looking for."

"Your great-grandpa's diary."

Grandpa George? Dad didn't keep anything that belonged to him, not even any pictures.

"What's that got to do with this poltergeist thing?"

"It's a long story, you'll understand when you read it."

"But..."

"Ninten, this is important."

He sounded completely serious.

"Okay, Dad." I sighed.

None of this was making me feel any less confused, but I decided to trust him. It was the only lead I had to resolving this madness.

"I'll call you guys again soon, son, say hi to your sisters for me."

"Later, Dad."

Not the longest conversation I'd had with him, but whatever. It was time to go key hunting.

Or, it would have been, until mom stepped in.

"That was your father, wasn't it? What did you two talk about?"

"Not a lot, just some weird stuff about my great grandpa…"

"About what…?"

"Yeah, something about finding his old diary and about how it would help explain the-"

"He told you _what_?!"

Mom hardly ever got mad at anybody, not even at Dad. Even though he was almost always away at work, she still smiled and spoke sweetly with him whenever they talked on the phone. But now, she sounded furious.

"Oh, if I told him once, I told him a _thousand_ times!"

"Mom...?"

"We agreed... oh, we _definitely_ agreed! It's not good for him! Not good for a growing boy!"

She was punching dad's number on the phone, still fuming to herself about how much Dad didn't understand how children should be raised.

"Mom, all I wanted to ask was where the key was…"

"No! Absolutely not! You are not going into that basement, and you are certainly not getting your hands on that diary!"

"But Dad said-"

"He didn't know what he was saying! This is a grown-up matter, not something you should be involved in!"

"But… the lamp…"

"I said forget about it! Now, go up with your sisters, we need to talk privately."

"But…"

"Your heard your mother! Go up to your room!"

* * *

There was nothing I could do about it; Mom was clearly dead set on making sure that diary stayed out of my reach, and in turn keep whatever had just happened to house a mystery. Downstairs, I could hear her and dad in a heated conversation, but couldn't make out a word of it. I couldn't go down there, not that I wanted to, so there was nothing to do except sit on my bed and mope.

_ I was hoping this would be it,_ I thought to myself as I half-heartedly bounced a baseball against the floor._ Maybe this would be the time they'd finally cave in and tell me._ But nope, just more "You'll understand when you're older", more "Just forget about it." How was I supposed to forget something like this?

Okay, about that…

When I said I was was a normal, boring kid with a normal, boring life, that was kind of a lie. A better way of putting it would be that I had a normal, boring life that sometimes involved weird situations that nobody ever explained to me or talked about once they were over. Nothing as out there as the killer lamp, mind you, but still enough to leave me wondering. When I was three, for example, my parents took me across town to go to the zoo. The new penguin exhibit had one of those critter food dispensers by it. You know the ones, you put in a quarter, and your kid gets a handful of little brown chow pellets to toss to the animals. I wanted to use it, badly, but my parents kept saying no. Then, in the middle of the biggest tantrum I ever threw, the machine popped opened like a piñata, sending all of its contents spilling to the asphalt. Me and those penguins have been close friends ever since.

Another time, when was about six, I was outside playing fetch with my new puppy, Mick. I had thrown the ball a little too hard, and it wound up on the other side of the street, just as a car came speeding by. The driver didn't put on the breaks in time and Mick would have been run over for sure, but in the half second I had to scream and reach toward him, something saved him. One moment he was ten feet away from me, in the middle of the road, the next he was right at my feet, looking dazed, but unharmed. And as I was crying and hugging him, promising I'd never play with him by the street again, I could have sworn I heard a voice telling me thank you.

But the weirdest one, and the one I pressed my parents for an answer for the longest, was during a baseball game when I was ten. I was up to bat, and Dennis Fritters was pitching. I'm usually a pretty good hitter, but as I learned the hard way, that kid could throw like a maniac. The ball ended up connecting not with my bat, but with my face, breaking my nose in clean. I was hurried to the school nurse, but when she pried away my hands to look at my face, she found it completely healed. There was still a lot of drying blood, but my nose was intact and otherwise normal. I didn't even have a headache anymore. This boggled me, since I can still remember hearing the very distinct crunch that should have spelled out a dent in my face for the rest of my life.

I was too old at that point for my parents to write it off as just an "overactive imagination" like they had before, so I was certain they'd finally fill me in on it, or if they didn't know, at least start looking into it. But no, every time I brought this, or any of the other weird things up, they'd just try and change the subject. That was the only problem with my folks, really. They loved me as much as any parents ever did, but they weren't very open with me about certain things. So with that in mind, I hope you won't judge me too harshly for what I did next.

As I was sitting there, brooding over the events of the day, a quiet jingling roused me from my thoughts.

"Hey, Mick."

Sensing my bad mood, the beagle hopped up on the bed and rested his head on my lap. I scratched him behind the ears, feeling my frown ebb away.

"Sorry about all the yelling, boy."

Mick looked up at me, as if to say "Don't worry, I understand."

I glanced outside; it was still a little light out, maybe there was still enough time to take him for a walk. Spending time with my pet often helped me feel better. I got up, dug his leash out from the wreck that was my closet, and hooked it onto his collar. I stood up, paused, then did a double-take.

There it was, jangling against his license. The basement key.

I wondered, briefly, why it was there. Mick, my trusty dog, the keeper of the single most elusive object in the house. But that thought passed quickly, it wasn't exactly the strangest thing I'd seen all day. The better question was, should I take it? It would be very easy, just wait until it was dark, the twins would be asleep and Mom would be engrossed in one of her soap operas. Nobody would notice me going down or up the stairs, I'd snuck more than enough midnight snacks to know that. Then the diary would be mine, and if what Dad said was true, I'd learn the truth about our little poltergeist problem. Furthermore, I had a hunch that it would get some clues as to what exactly my parents have been keeping from me all my life.

The only thing holding me back was my mother; how terrified she had looked when I described the attack, and how angry she had been when she heard what my father had instructed me to do. Even now, her voice downstairs was only just starting to simmer down, turning into the soft, loving tone she only used when talking with Dad. She might go a little overboard with it sometimes, but she'd never steered me wrong. But still…

"Ninten?"

My head jerked up. I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I hadn't even noticed her come in.

"Hey, Mimmie."

In her hands were two orange boxes. She held one out to me.

"Here's some juice, big brother. Minnie said you'd probably be thirsty."

"...Thanks."

My sisters could be nice when they felt like it. They'd even put in the straw for me. Minnie sat down on the bed next to me, petting Mick's back. His tail thumped against her lap.

"Minnie is still sad about Cupid Doll."

"Is she, now?"

"Yeah, but I'm not. He was being mean."

She pointed at one of her freckly cheeks.

"He hit me."

I patted her on the head.

"Don't worry, Mim. No more mean monsters are gonna get you on my watch."

We were quiet for a while. Mimmie swung her little legs back and forth, I took a few sips from the juicebox.

"When's dinner?"

Dinner, I'd forgotten about it. Suddenly, I was made aware of a wonderful scent coming from downstairs. A scent that, for the first time in my life, I had been too preoccupied to notice. Mom had gotten back to making her ribs.

"I dunno, Mimmie, probably soon."

I patted her again.

"How about you go check it out?"

"Okay."

She hopped off the bed and headed out the door. She came back quickly, bringing with her news that dinner would be ready within five minutes, and I should hurry downstairs to help her set the table. She was, however, gone just long enough for me to detach the key from Mick's collar, and slip it into my pocket.

* * *

The basement was pretty much what you'd expect: dark, dusty, and full of old stuff. Most of it was just your average junk; broken kitchen appliances, unusable tools, cardboard boxes filled with cables and Christmas decorations, just stuff you pile away and forget about. After digging around a bit, however, I found what I was looking for. In the very back, tucked away between a stack of lawn chairs and my parents' old record machine, was an ancient-looking trunk. It wasn't locked, but the hinges were stiff with rust. Inside it were three yellowed newspapers tied up with rubber bands, a few black and white pictures, a folded patchwork quilt, some red metallic thing that looked like a credit card, and a leather-bound book.

It was falling apart at the seams, the cover peeling and the pages eaten away by rats and mildew, but on the cover I could just make out the words "Diary and Memoirs of George Foster" written in curly, golden letters. Feeling excited, I wanted to dive in and investigate immediately, but there was hardly enough light to read, and I could tell the dust would get to me if I didn't leave soon. Leaving the rest of the stuff, I picked up the book, ascended the basement stairs, and headed up toward my room.

The sun outside my window had faded long ago, so, out of habit, I reached to turn my lamp on, only to find myself groping at the empty space above my desk.

_ Maybe I'll ask Mom about getting a new one tomorrow..._

No, no thinking about Mom.

After rummaging a flashlight out of the closet, I laid down on the bed on my stomach and pulled the covers over my head.

As soon as the diary was opened, though, my eyes met a disappointing sight: it was almost entirely unreadable. Grandpa George's handwriting was a small, fancy cursive, something I was never able to get the hang of, but any legibility it could have had left was lost to heavy mildew damage. I could make out a few individual words, sometimes half a sentence or two, but that was about my limit. After paging feverishly until I was so tired my eyes were stinging, I was only able to find one page where a complete passage was understandable. It was only two sentences in length, one right above the other, like some sort of riddle:

_ Who has lost his tail?_

_ The eternal one of the ship that sails the cosmos._

I gave up after that. Not only was it cryptic, it was completely unhelpful. Lost his tail? What was that supposed to mean? And who is this "one of the ship that sails the cosmos"? I thought we were dealing with ghosts, now there's aliens to worry about too? And if the rest of the book was nothing but stuff like this, it didn't explain squat about the poltergeist, or anything for that matter. Not wanting to get worked up again, I hid the book underneath my bed and leaned back against my pillow, running a hand through my hair.

_ Maybe Dad could read it_, I thought. It's his Grandfather, after all. _Maybe if he looked at it, he could make more sense of it._

But he, just like always, was a hundred miles away, working hard to make us money. About this time, he was probably clocking out and getting ready to leave for bed. I try not to get too upset that he's gone so much, it's the only way he can keep food on our table, but there were sometimes occasions like this where someone like him would be helpful to have around.

_ Spring break is coming up_, I thought as my eyes closed. _Maybe he'll get a chance to visit us then..._

* * *

I had my first freaky dream that night.

I don't have dreams that I remember very often, and the ones I do remember don't ever make any sense. And I don't mean "My great uncle took over the world after a fat kid performed taxidermy on a dragon" doesn't make any sense, I mean that the dreams I remember never involve people, places, or things that are recognizable or describable with words. They're always abstract blurs that can only be described by how they made me feel, like "it was scary" or "it was boring". So that was the first sign that my dream wasn't one of my typical ones: I could definitely tell exactly what was going on.

I was standing somewhere dark and chilly, illuminated dimly and eerily by a yellowish glow from somewhere ahead of me. Standing between me and the source of the light was a person, about as tall as I was, facing away from me. I felt a strange sort of dread as I watched the kid stare at the light. Somehow I knew, whatever happened, I could not let him get to it. Whatever it was - a doomsday device, a Pandora's box, a tupperware of month-old tuna casserole - it was something that nobody should ever touch.

"Wait!" I yelled as I started to run toward him. "Wait, stop!"

The kid took a few steps forward, he reached out a hand.

"No, don't!"

The kid turned around just as I got to him, and we were face to face. And he was me.

He was identical to me in every way, same face, same clothes, even the same hat. Not a single freckle on his nose was out of place. And in his hand was the object he had reached for, a long, golden sword. He had taken it, I was too late.

Then, without any warning, he pulled the sword back and stabbed me through the heart. I gasped and recoiled, but it didn't hurt. It didn't even pierce my skin or tear my shirt. It just passed right through me as if I was a hologram. His eyes widened, and he looked down. A crimson stain was spreading across his own chest, somehow, he had taken the blow.

Then he smiled at me; not an evil, nasty smile or a melancholy, "facing death" smile, but a warm, honest smile, like one you would make in the presence of an old, dear friend. Then he was gone. He didn't dissolve or vanish in a flash of light or anything, he just wasn't there anymore. And where he had stood, from the spot where he took the sword, the ground began to crumble. And beneath it was open space - black, dotted with stars, and endless. Terrified, I turned to run. I ran as fast as it was possible for me to, but the collapse of the world wasn't escapable. Even if I could run at the speed of sound, there would soon be no ground to run on, anywhere. Then the earth beneath my shoes was gone and I was swallowed up.

I didn't feel the falling, there was no lurching in my belly like when I ride on a rollercoaster, but above my head I could see the crumbling earth rushing away from me. Then it was out of sight completely, and any sense that I was moving was gone. I was stranded in space, alone. Forever.

Then my dream shifted. I couldn't see, hear, speak, or move, and though I felt quite alone, a voice was speaking to me. It sounded kind of like my Dad's, but it seemed to be talking directly into my brain.

"It has begun, Ninten. After today, nothing about this world, about life as you know it, will ever be the same. Are you prepared?"

_ I don't know, dramatic voice in my head, what's going to happen?_

"Tomorrow, your journey will begin, regardless of what you choose to do."

I couldn't really tell if the voice could hear me or not, but I figured if it was speaking to my mind my best bet was to respond the same way. Actually, the more I listened, the more it sounded like my own thinking voice...

"You've wanted an adventure for some time now, haven't you?"

_ Well, sure, I guess so. Podunk isn't exactly an exciting place to live._

"You won't be alone. Right now, you have friends waiting for you. Friends who you've never met."

_ Well, that's good to know. Would you mind giving me names, or... addresses or something, Mister Dramatic Dream Voice?_

"With all of you together, it may yet be possible for you to prevent this world's destruction."

_ ... Say that again?_

I barely caught what the voice said next.

"It's quite remarkable, isn't it? The effects a single person can have."

_ I don't care how remarkable it is, what do you mean 'this world's destruction'?!_

"I doubt anyone alive today can possibly imagine what this will one day amount to."

_ I can't save the world, I'm just a kid!_

"It's really a shame, though... That none of you will live to see when it is finished."

_ Wait, what?_

"Ninten..."

_ You mean I'm going to die?!_

The voice was fading. I could feel a pillow against my face.

"Ninten, do you know..."

_ Wait, come back!_

Morning sun was glowing red against my eyelids, making me squint. My dream had ended, but I could still remember the voice's final words:

"Who has lost his tail...?"


	3. Zombies (Almost) Ate My Neighbors

I spent the next five minutes doing exactly what anybody else would have done after having a dream like that - lie there and try to remember what real life was. I hadn't closed my curtains last night, so a very sunny morning was illuminating the corners of my room. Outside, a few sparrows were chirping and in the distance I could hear a police siren.

Around my head, my pillow felt slightly cold and damp, even though my skin and pajamas felt dry. It was as if I had gotten a really bad fever in the middle of the night, then returned back to normal before I woke up. I propped myself up on an elbow after a minute, feeling numb despite the warmth of the bed, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

It was a Saturday morning, so I would usually be hurrying downstairs to catch my favorite cartoons at this point, but today, my digital clock was displaying the numbers 7:26. There wouldn't be anything good on for about an hour. I'd never voluntarily gotten up this early before, it must have been that dream.

That dream...

I didn't have the slightest idea of what I was supposed to make of it. The first part was freaky enough, but then hearing an ominous voice telling me I'm going to have to save the world and possibly die in the process… How do you react to something like that? Really, how?

Too restless to sleep in, I slid off the bed and headed to the bathroom. On weekends, I'm not usually ready for the day until well after breakfast was over, but I couldn't stand just sitting still. I process things better when I'm doing something.

I replayed the dream in my head like a movie while I showered, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything. I had no idea what that voice had been talking about, and I obviously wasn't sure if I should listen to it, but I was at least freaked out enough not to want to miss any details. By the time I was done, I had memorized it from start to finish, and I could recite the strange voice's words by heart. I began thinking about them as I watched the reflection of a freckled, dark-haired boy brush his teeth in my mirror.

_"It has begun, Ninten."_

What has, exactly? It mentioned the world being destroyed, is that what it meant? I've heard a lot of ideas about how the apocalypse is gonna happen, but I don't think anybody could have predicted we would meet our end at the hands of a lamp uprising. If that's the case, I'd better start carrying that handy baseball bat around if I plan on surviving much longer.

_"None of you will live to see when it is finished",_ it had said.

Who's "you"? Me and my family? Me and these "friends" it was going on about? The entire human race? That'd be a little redundant, wouldn't it?

Feeling slightly queasy, I spat into the sink and went back to my room to get dressed. 7:53, half an hour to spare.

_"Tomorrow, your journey will begin, whatever you choose to do."_

_Well, Dramatic Dream Voice_, I thought to myself as I pulled my favorite striped shirt over my head, _I'm not saying I believe you, but if you're telling the truth, I'm not going unprepared._

And so, feeling kind of foolish, I began to pick apart my pigsty of a room for things I thought a world-saving hero might need. Yeah, it was stupid, and I knew it was, but at the time I just chopped it up to reacting out of fear. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had a dream with understandable words in it, let alone a fully-fledged one-sided conversation with... myself?

I don't know, it didn't matter. Maybe with all the crazy stuff that had gone on the last twelve hours, I guess I couldn't blame myself for acting along with it. And besides, I wasn't really going on an adventure, right? I was just doing all this to calm my nerves. Come tonight, I'd be asleep in my cozy bed, with no world at risk and no need to go out on a dangerous adventure to save it. Though, I admit, part of me did kinda like the idea…

It was exactly eight o' clock when I was finished. Wasting no time to admire my handiwork, I clambered downstairs and into the kitchen. Mom was down there, sipping her coffee and greeting me happily like always.

"Do you have plans for today?" she asked, taking notice of my clothes and wet hair.

"Nah, just the usual stuff, riding my bike to the park and such."

I switched on the TV, only to find it in the middle of a commercial break.

"You don't usually get up this early, honey, is something wrong?"

I began pouring myself a bowl of fruit loops, not wanting to meet her gaze. The old book tucked away upstairs had crept its way into my mind

"Just had a messed up dream last night, that's all."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Before she could ask me what it was about, two identical redheads, each wearing identical purple nightgowns, came pattering in.

"Good morning, girls."

"Morning, Mommy."

"Mommy, what's this?"

Minnie was holding up a little black box, about half the size of a hamburger. I recognized it as the thing she had found inside Cupid Doll after I decapitated him.

"Let me see, sweetie... Oh, it's a music box!"

"Who would put a music box inside a dinky old toy?" I wondered aloud.

"Play it, Mommy! Wind it up!"

The box was empty, there wasn't a spinning ballerina in it or anything like that, but it still played. Barely, at least. After letting out the first five notes of a broken tune, it abruptly fell silent.

"Oh, that's too bad..."

"Can you fix it, Mommy?"

"Yes, fix it, Mommy, fix it!"

"I'm not sure if it can be fixed, honey, see that part there?"

She pointed into the box's mechanisms.

"Thats where the rest of the notes should come from, but it's broken off now. A shame, really, it sounded like the a pretty song..."

It must have been, because, for some reason, I couldn't get the tune out from the corner of my mind all morning.

* * *

By the time I had mounted my bike and was on my way into town, an early spring sun had risen high overhead, and the dew that had dotted the grass overnight was now beginning to dry. Mick was busy chasing a bumblebee in circles around the yard, and the pair of sparrows whose chirps I had heard when I woke up were now hard at work building a nest. It was these sort of weekends, I thought, that made Podunk a slightly more than decent place to live.

Podunk had been established about one hundred years ago, and I liked to think that it had grown steadily right up until the 1950s, where it suddenly froze in time through some cosmic accident, and remained so to this day. Every single house had a weathervane and a rosy pink flowerbed, which were very taxing on my sisters' allergies this time of year, and there were probably enough burger joints to keep the entire town's population fed a dozen times over.

I had decided that day that my first destination would be the video store, to renew _a game _rental for a third time, then play baseball with myself until lunch. I would have enough money left to pay for a sandwich, and, if there was time, spend an hour or so at the arcade. Overall, an extremely normal Saturday was spread out before me, except for the fact that it was apparently my first day as a world-saving hero. This sense of normality, however, was very short-lived.

My first warning came in the form of one of my neighbors, Miss Lindgren. As I was pedaling past her house, I looked over to see her pacing around in her yard, raising a tremendous fuss. She was clutching a handkerchief to her face and letting out cries of "Oh me, oh my! Oh me, oh my!" in an almost stereotypical display of distress. I stopped on my bike and watched, both concerned and curious. Miss Lindgren was a very nervous young woman who hardly ever left her house or spoke to anybody, so something unusually bad must have happened to send her into this state.

"What's the problem, Miss Lindgren?"

"Who..?! Oh, it's you..."

Maybe now aware of the scene she was making, she scampered over to her porch and sat on the steps. She was hiccuping back sobs now.

"You're... y-you're Cynthia's boy, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's me."

As you can see, weird names were sort of a thing in our family.

"Oh, I'm d-dreadfully sorry for disturbing you, it's just... it's just..."

"Yes...?"

Suddenly, she let out a terrible wail.

"My dear Pippi has gotten lost! She's gone and gotten herself somewhere all secret from me again, and I just can't seem to find her anywhere!"

"I'm very sorry to hear that..."

Little Pippi Lindgren was about the same age as my sisters, and the three of them often had playdates together.

"Have you checked the entire house?"

What I wanted to ask her was "Have you checked anywhere other than the house?", but I felt that'd be too mean.

"Oh, yes! In all of her usual hiding places too!"

"Well, I… I'll keep an eye out for her, then."

I couldn't say it, but I really wanted to leave. It's not that I didn't care, I just wasn't exactly sure how I was supposed to help.

"Oh, thank you!" she sniffled, dabbing at her eyes, "If you're going into town, please tell the mayor for me, alright?"

I didn't really see this as something worth alerting the mayor about. Pippi had quite a record for causing mischief, and many of her antics were done for the sole purpose of watching her mother panic. Vanishing for hours at a time only to pop up out of nowhere perfectly unharmed, I was sure I'd heard about her doing that at least twice before. All the same, though, I couldn't just let her keep worrying.

"Of course I will."

"Oh, bless your dear little heart!" I heard her call as I sped off into town.

The man in charge of the video store was a college-age guy named Chase, who used a lot of hair gel and always wore a shirt with a giant robot on it. I liked Chase; he wasn't boring or forcefully professional like the people at the drugstore or burger joints. He liked to laugh and make jokes, some of them actually funny, and he was always happy to give opinions on what games were worth renting and what game were just garbage. When I came in to do my re-rent, he understood immediately when I told him that I honestly would be finished by now if it weren't for homework, and that pesky mad knight boss.

"Just use 'Stopspell' on him your first turn, he'll be a piece of cake after that." he advised as he handed me back the cartridge.

"Thanks, Chase, I'll see you soon."

I turned to leave, then he spoke up again.

"Hey, is it true, by the way? The ghost thing I've been hearing about?"

I stopped.

"... What?"

"Oh, just some weird... phantom thing, supposedly going around messing with people."

"Wait, who told you this?"

"Loads of people, one chick even told me it tore her whole house down. I dunno, I was just wondering if there was an early Halloween celebration happening that I'm missing out on."

"Not that I know of, no..."

So it wasn't just us, then...

"By the way, if you're going to go practice somewhere," he gestured at the bat sticking out of my bag, "Steer clear of the cemetery, I heard a bunch of punks are causing trouble there."

It sounded like a strange comment to make, but the cemetery was the closest thing Podunk had to a park. It was grassy, open, and very big, not because a lot of graves were there, but because there was a lot more space between them than necessary.

"I will, man, thanks."

Questions started buzzing around my head again as I rode across town. Exactly how widespread was this 'poltergeist' problem going to turn out? Had our house really seen the last of it? If it really had torn up that person's house... Chase had sounded unconvinced about it, but he hadn't witnessed one of the attacks first hand like I had. Were we one of the luckier victims? And if I'm apparently the one that's going to stop all this, exactly how do I stop something possibly happening all over the country? The world, even?

Something roused me from my thoughts, and at first, I wasn't sure what. Nothing noteworthy was reaching my ears, just the usual bustle of the town. Then I remembered; I was approaching the pet store, normally, I should be be picking up the sounds of animals. Not wanting my curiosity left unsatisfied, I put on the breaks and stepped back onto the sidewalk.

Under the big red sign that simply read "Pets and Supplies" (You really didn't need to be that creative with names in Podunk), the store windows that should have been the home to restless puppies and kittens now looked strangely empty. At first I thought some nutty old lady had come in and bought them all over the week, but once I entered the store, that possibility seemed very unlikely. Every single cage in the store was open and empty. The metal wire doors were all hanging off their hinges, the glass lids had all been shattered, and here and there, a display had been knocked over or bag had been spilled. It was clear, by the looks of things, that some sort of mass breakout had just taken place.

"Oh, did I forget to turn the sign off again?" said the wizened old store owner, who looked incredibly downcast. "I'm so sorry, my boy, but we are... out of stock at the present time. Unless you want to purchase a leash or something..."

"Oh, I don't wanna buy anything, sir, I just wanted to know what happened."

"I really can't say, boy. All the animals were perfectly happy this morning, then, out of nowhere, something made them all start going cuckoo. They started hitting themselves against the walls of their cages, and... well, I didn't want them hurting themselves. So I started letting them out, thinking they were feeling too cooped up, but then the next thing I knew, all of them had escaped and gone running out the door."

"Was it rabies or something?"

"Couldn't be that, we made sure they'd all had their shots." He sighed and pressed his hands to his temples. "It's not just them, either. I saw on the news this morning, pets all over the place are starting to act nutty. Something... strange is happening, I think. Sonething only they can sense."

_Something like the end of the world, by any chance?_

Feeling slightly sick again, I glanced around for something to change the subject with. I quickly noticed a birdcage sitting behind the owner's desk, which appeared to be the only one still occupied. There was some sort of animal sitting quietly inside it, though, from a distance, I couldn't tell what it was.

"What's in there?" I asked, pointing.

"Oh, in there? It's a canary chick; maybe a week old or so."

He picked up the cage and set it down carefully on the counter. Inside it, sitting on a pile of shredded newspaper, was the most miserable looking creature I'd ever laid eyes on. Its wrinkled pink skin was protected by only the thinnest layer of fuzz, leaving it shaky and naked looking. Its glassy black eyes looked too big on its head, they probably opened very recently, and its wings were little more than elbowed stubs. As I watched, it shifted its head toward me and let out a pathetic little chirp.

"He's the only one that didn't try to escape, poor thing," the store owner explained as I poked a finger through the cage bars. "Some girls about your age brought him in yesterday, and as you can see, he's not in good shape."

And I immediately had a guess as to where they must have found it. I'd be sacrificing my lunch money, but I think an empty stomach would feel a lot less painful than watching the thing suffer.

"How much is he?"

"You want to buy him...?"

"I think I know where he used to live."

"Oh, then just take him. He won't last any longer here than anywhere else."

He opened the cage door, carefully fished the bird out, and handed it to me, free of charge.

"Maybe now I can get a new start and officially convert this place into a Petless Pets and Supplies store."

Now, if you're wondering why I immediately knew where the bird must have come from, or why there are domestic canaries living wild in Podunk in the first place, here's what everyone always tells me: For as little as I know about my great grandparents, I do know that they owned a lot of songbirds. Apparently, it was something everyone looked forward to when visiting their house, being able to enjoy their compsmy while surrounded by canary song. So after the two of them vanished into thin air, and once everyone had finally agreed to stop waiting and give them both a proper funeral, they decided to bring the birds along as part of the service. It helped them remember what it was like when they were still alive, I guess. Anyway, in an act of finality, they set all the birds free as soon as the funeral was done. They must have expected them to just fly away, but for some reason, they all wanted to stick around. So now, nearly eighty years later, their great great great grandbirds are living happy, predator-free lives in the Podunk cemetery.

* * *

So, yeah, I guess it was sort of stupid of me to go wandering into somewhere I was told not fifteen minutes previously to steer clear of. Part of me kinda knew this, but I reasoned with myself that if I was supposed to stop whatever it was that was threatening the world right now, how much of a problem could a few trouble-making seventh graders be, really?

More of a problem than I thought, by the looks of it, because the cemetery was completely trashed.

And I don't mean it was full of garbage, like graffiti and broken glass and other stuff you'd expect to see when teenagers cause trouble, I mean it literally looked like a small hurricane had hit the place. Broken branches and chunks overturned dirt were littered everywhere. Even though it was the middle of April, the trees looked like they had each shed about half their leaves, leaving them looking all scrawny and misshapen. Here and there, I saw a grave that had a corner nicked off or an angel was missing one of its feathers. Nothing too devastating; I could have still believed it was just a bunch of hormonal idiots who had done it, but it just didn't give off that sort of feel. Despite it being... well, a cemetery, I had never really felt gloomy whenever I went there. Maybe it's unfair to say, since nobody I knew was buried there, but to me, the Podunk cemetery was just a good place for me to practice ball and listen to the sound of birds, nothing else.

Speaking of birds, I still wasn't having any luck finding the canary nest. If it had been blown off like everything else in the trees, I really didn't think I could talk mom into keeping him. If things went anything like they did with Bacon the goldfish, he wouldn't make it past his first molt as long as he and Minnie shared a roof...

"Hey! _Hey_!"

I looked up. It was coming from the church I had just passed by.

"What're ya doin' out there, kid? Get inside!"

A chubby, middle-aged guy was poking his head out the front door, gesturing frantically for me to join him. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place a name.

"Get inside, now! Before they get ya!"

"Before who gets me...?"

He sounded like it should be incredibly obvious.

"'Before who gets ya?!' The zombies, of course!"

I blinked.

"What…?"

"Just _get inside_, kid!" Despite the absurdity of his words, he sounded absolutely sincere. "I'll be the one getting blamed if they get another one!"

More confused than ever, I walked up the steps and entered the door. The wacko who called me inside, who I finally recognized as the church's janitor, locked it tightly behind me.

"Dang things already got a little girl with 'em, can't let 'em gettin'-"

"Hold it, hold it. _What_ is going on, exactly?"

"I wish I could tell ya, kid. They showed up early this morning, right after I came here to fix the pipes, and I've been stuck here ever since."

"Zombies...?"

"Yup."

"As in... _zombies?_"

Had the whole world gone crazy while I was doing my homework last night or something?

"Oh, call 'em whatever you want." The janitor replied. "If it's slow, wants to eat ya, and has a surprisingly good sense of direction despite being braindead, it's a stinkin' zombie."

"W-wait… are they the ones that wrecked the graveyard?" I asked.

"Well, it obviously wasn't the local butterfly population, was it?"

"Then you can go home if you want to," I said, feeling relieved. "They're just a bunch of high schoolers trying to cause trouble."

"They bit me!" he retorted, holding up a hairy arm. There was a bruise shaped like a set of human teeth, but no broken skin.

"Do ya call that normal high school behavior?"

Being only in the sixth grade, I could not answer that.

"Well, look, I can't stick around here." I held up my hat, which I had been using to carry the baby canary. "I have stuff I gotta do, and-"

"Hey, where'd ya get th/at bird?"

It was a weird shift of focus, but at least he had stopped his zombie lecture.

"The pet shop, why?"

"Oh, just makin' sure you hadn't kidnapped him. Me an' the pastor have been keeping an eye on his nest, see."

"You know where it is?"

"Well, yeah, but it's in the middle of zombieland now. You wouldn't last half a minute if- Hey, there's one of 'em!"

I had been facing away from a window as we talked, and at those words, he rushed over to look through it. I pivoted around to do the same, curious to see what these so-called zombies looked like.

To the janitor's credit, 'zombie' was the first word that came to my mind when I saw how the person wandering outside was acting. He had an entirely blank expression on his face, like somebody who just got lobotomized. (I don't know what "lobotomized" actually means, but I've heard it used in movies, and he definitely had that sort of look.) His feet were dragging mindlessly along the ground as he walked, leaving his shoes coated in dirt. He wasn't holding his arms out in front of him and groaning or anything like that, but the way he was moving still suggested he was a member of the undead. What broke this idea, though, was the way he looked. Other than the copious amount of mud covering his face and clothes, he looked like a perfectly healthy human being. He wasn't bleeding or oozing out of anywhere, and aside from a particularly bad case of acne, his skin looked completely normal. Nothing about his looks suggested he was infected, rotting, or sick in any way.

"That's what you're freaking out about?," I scoffed. "I've seen more convincing zombies in math class."

The janitor retorted, but I wasn't paying any attention. As if he had heard my comment, the zombie guy stopped in his tracks and looked straight at me. My stomach dropped. Putting it into words is hard, but there was something a little... wrong about the look he was giving me, like he was trying to get a glimpse at the back of my skull. Then after a few moments, he turned in the direction he came, and shuffled off.

It went against my better judgement, but I had a hunch...

"Hey, where are ya goin'?" asked the janitor, interrupting himself.

I ignored him, then felt a meaty hand grab my arm.

"Where d'ya think yer goin', kid?"

"Out."

"Oh, so you have a death wish? No way, kid, yer stayin' here until the zombies are gone."

"I told you, they're not zombies. They're just a bunch of idiots trying to win a bet or something."

"Yer not goin'," said the janitor with a note of finality, "There'll be no youngsters gettin' their brains eaten on my watch."

So, that better judgement I talked about when I had my hunch?

Yeah, that was kind of a lie too. In truth, I have pretty much no good judgement to go against with in the first place. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only reason I've lived as long as I have is because I've never been faced with a situation that's lead to something dangerous. Until today, of course.

* * *

As soon as the janitor guy had sulked off to use the bathroom, though not before giving me one last warning about the zombies, I was back outside without any hesitation. The zombie couldn't have gone far at the rate he was going, I thought, so I shouldn't have any trouble following him. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd find when he reached his destination, but if my hunch was correct, it'd be worth getting there.

It was a very slow process, following behind a zombie without being noticed, but he eventually lead me to the opening of some sort of underground crypt. I hadn't met a single other person, living or dead, my entire way there, so my belief that this was all some sort of joke was strengthened even further.

After conveniently leaving the door open, the zombie guy entered the crypt, his muddy shoes clunking against the steps of a ladder. After giving him a little headway, I stepped out from my hiding place to follow him, when a familiar cheeping caught my attention. I looked up.

Six feet above my head, tucked away in the branches of a walnut tree, was a twiggy little bird's nest. Inside it, twittering loudly for someone to drop a worm down his throat, was a tiny canary. It was almost identical to the one in my hat, who, as if recognizing the sound of his brother, lifted his head and let out a feeble little squeak.

I hesitated at first thinking I was losing time, until I realized that there was no reason why the zombie would really go anywhere.

I needed both hands to climb the tree, so I did the most rational thing I could think of: putting the hat back on my head with the canary still curled up inside. He started tugging at my hair a little, but seemed to be safe and secure. The tree, thankfully, had enough footing within reach for me to climb it. After reaching the branch and seating myself, I carefully took the bird off my head.

"There you go, little guy," I said as I settled him into the fluff lining the nest. "Now don't go flinging yourself out again, okay?"

No sooner had the words left me when human scream, so sudden and loud I almost fell out of the tree, shattered the pleasant silence. For a second, I thought it was one of my sisters, but no, they should still be at home. It was somebody about the same age, though, and it was coming from the door zombieman had just gone down. Feeling a little more scared, but also a little more determined than I was a moment ago, I clambered down from the tree.

* * *

Here's a shocker: I'd never been in a crypt before, so I had no idea what to expect. Judging by the length of the ladder, I was standing about ten feet below ground. After another descent down a flight of stairs, I found myself in a rather uninviting stone room. It probably hadn't been touched in years; cobwebs were snagging on almost every surface, and there was so much dust in the air I was reaching for my inhaler in a matter of seconds. There was no illumination except for a single gas lamp by the entrance, probably lit just now by the zombie guy. And sitting on the floor, in neat rows as far as the light would let me see, were dark wooden caskets. Quite a creepy place, I'll admit, but I really think the zombies could have afforded to be a little more creative.

I hadn't brought my flashlight; it had been among the things I had put in my backpack that morning. And, since I hadn't totally bought into the idea that today was the day I would save the world, that backpack still sitting on my bed at that point. Looking back on it now, I have no idea what I was thinking, but I can't really blame myself for not being able to foresee a situation that would involve me poking around in a crypt.

Anyway, because of this dumb move on my part, I had no way of finding my way around, so I was pretty much confined to a few feet around the entrance. I did, however, have something to defend myself with should I need it. Out of habit, I had been mindlessly carrying my baseball bat during my pursuit of the zombieman. So, gripping it a little tighter, I did the best thing I could think to do.

"Uh... Hello?"

No response.

"Okay, look, the joke's over. I admire your persistence and everything, but it really isn't funny anymore. Trashing the place is one thing, but I'm pretty sure biting people crosses a line that'll end up getting you arrested."

Still nothing. Not only did I sound stupid, the growing paranoia was making my skin crawl.

I wasn't sure what I was trying to accomplish; there was no chance any of them would take orders from a wheezy middle schooler. After listening for a second, though, I did hear something. It sounded like a thudding against wood, and it was coming from further in the room. My eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, so I could see one of the coffins shaking very slightly. Working up the faltering remains of my nerve, I tiptoed over to it and put my hand on the side of the lid. Then, keeping the other hand tight around the handle of my bat, I opened it.

The frightened, freckle-covered face of a girl looked up at me. I recognized it immediately.

"Pippi?!"

"Mmmggph!"

She had a gag over her mouth.

"Pippi, how... What are you doing down here?"

"_Mmmnnnggff_!"

I had been so surprised to see her, of all people, that I hadn't thought about freeing her. When I did so, however, I regretted it almost instantly.

"Oh, goody!"

She latched onto me like a starfish and started talking at a million miles an hour with her notoriously loud lisp.

"I juth't knew th'umbody would come and th'ave me! I dunno what your name ith, but I know who you are! You're Mimmie and Minnie's big brother, that'th who!"

"Pippi, shut up!"

"You muth't be pretty brave, huh? Coming in here with all thoth'e creepy people around-"

"Shhhhh!"

I clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled, still trying to talk, but I wasn't paying any attention. The moment she had piped up, I got the feeling somebody had to be listening to us.

"Save it, Pippi, we need to get out of- _Eurgh_!"

In an attempt to free herself, Pippi had actually licked the palm of my hand. I'm not typically squeamish, but she was one of those really unhygienic type of kids that often got accused at school of carrying cooties. I don't believe in cooties anymore, but I still didn't want her getting her mouth on me.

Then, all around us, we heard movement. My noise of disgust must have finally sounded the alarm. My bat slipped from my hand with a soft clatter, and Pippi suddenly went very still.

There were more of them; dozens more. The crypt had been completely filled with people the entire time I had been down here, it had just been too dark to see. Among them, I recognized the acne-ridden teenager I had followed in, but he was only one amongst every sort of person imaginable. Little kids who looked no older than Pippi, silver-haired old grannies and grandpas, men and women around my parents' age, boys and girls around my age, tall people, short people, fat people, scrawny people, people of every race and in every style of clothing. And each one of them was just like the first: limp, muddy, and expressionless, but otherwise normal.

They stopped moving once they had us surrounded. Then they just stood there, staring silently at us like security cameras. Forcing myself to stay calm, I slowly reached down and grabbed my bat from the floor, still keeping my eyes on our onlookers. Pippi remained strangely quiet.

My mind was completely blank with terror and confusion. Any belief I had left that this was all a joke had seeped out of me by now, but what other possibilities were there? They couldn't really be zombies, could they? They'd be rotting to bits if they were, and if it was some sort of virus or whatever, then wouldn't the janitor be... What am I saying, zombies aren't even real!

My heart was now throbbing against my ears as we waited for something to happen. The door was blocked off by a punk-looking girl and a guy with dreadlocks, neither of which looked like they wanted to let us pass. If they attacked, we'd last about a minute. If I attacked first, maybe thirty seconds at best. The seconds stretched on. The hand holding my bat felt clammy. Part of me, the small part of me that was never very focused, noticed that the zombies could still blink.

Then, as if one of them had given a silent command, all of them were on us.

Sad to say it, but I would have been creamed right then and there had it not been for Pippi. I was able to knock one of them out cold with my bat (They could still feel pain, apparently), but even as I did, three more of them had grabbed me. Slow as they were, they seemed to have all the strength they had while still regular people. Fists and shoes started hitting me from all sides. Teeth were biting me, nails were scratching at my face. One brutal-looking biker zombie grabbed my arm and seemed determined to pop it right off, but Pippi intervened before he succeeded. For some reason, none of the zombies were paying her any attention, and she was using this to her advantage. Small as she was, that kid was surprisingly fierce. Even still, though, there was no way we'd last long. For every zombie who got a head bashed by my bat or a nose punched in by Pippi, another one followed to take their place. The fact that they were so... not dead-looking didn't help either; I can't even tell you how horrible I felt knocking out the old lady zombie. Within about a minute, I was completely overwhelmed. They all pinned me to the floor and intensified their attacks, still trying with all their might to bring me to a slow, painful end. Pippi screamed and tried pulling one of them off.

"Pippi, get out of here!", I shouted.

"But-"

"Just get out!"

But Pippi wouldn't. Despite the fact that her tiny fists barely made a scratch on the barrage of zombies slowly beating me to a pulp, she still wouldn't leave. Well, fantastic, then at least I won't die alone.

I remember thinking to myself "Well, that was a short, stupid adventure." I hated having to give up fighting, but once my bat had rolled out of my hand, there was nothing left for me to do except cover my head and wait for the zombies to either get bored or beat me unconscious. Pippi was shrieking louder than ever, and I hoped and prayed that somebody would hear her. Then a pair of hands found my throat, and I plunged into a fully-fledged panic.

I remember screaming, louder even than Pippi was. I remember my limbs tucking in tight to my body, desperately trying to shield myself. And I remember fear; paralyzing, mortal fear, blotting out every other thought in my head.

Then... well, I can't exactly describe it in words, my memory of it is sort of a blur now, but I think my brain switched into some sort of autopilot. My vision was suddenly nothing but a burning white, as if a very bright sun had appeared in the room. I was aware of my hands tensing into fists, of the hairs on my arms standing up, of something that felt like a powerful gust blowing my hair and clothes...

Then the pain stopped. Somehow, all at once, they were gone. Under normal circumstances, I think I would have been too sore to move, but my body still seemed to be acting almost on its own. I rose unsteadily to my feet, not taking in anything from my surroundings except for Pippi, who looked stunned.

_What happened? What did I do?_

I grabbed her hand and made a dash for the exit, which now seemed to be clear.

_What's going on? Why did the zombies stop?_

I could hear movement behind us as we climbed the ladder. I urged Pippi to go first, and she obeyed, looking almost scared. As I clawed my way up the ladder, I felt something grab my ankle, but it was free after a well-aimed kick. Then I was in the open air, and felt hot sun stinging my eyes. Not wasting a second, I slammed the crypt door shut and bolted it. Then, feeling my newfound strength suddenly leave me, I collapsed.

If you've ever had the snot beaten out of you by a gang of bullies, then maybe you have some sort of idea how I felt. Just replace the bullies with bloodthirsty zombies and multiply their numbers about six or seven times. Every inch of me ached horribly from an even layer of bruises, my mouth and nose were both bleeding, and every breath I took hurt thanks to the damage done to my ribs. Nothing was broken, thank God, but I probably wasn't going to feel normal again for weeks. But I was, at the very least, alive. Alive and safe. I could hear the zombies pounding at the door behind us, still trying to get to me, but the bolt held. Another second later, I heard a soft creaking, followed by a loud crash and a tumbling of bodies. The ladder, overrun by too many zombies, had fallen over.

After recovering for a bit, I managed to get to my knees. Pippi was still staring at me like I had just dropped out of the sky. One of her ratty orange pigtails had come undone, but she didn't seem hurt.

"That... wa'th..."

Suddenly, she latched onto me again, crushing my already bruised ribs.

"_Aweth'ome_!"

She began babbling, giving all the details about exactly how awesome I was, but I wasn't paying any attention. Pippi had seen what had happened, she should be able to tell me...

"Pippi...", I started, spitting out a blob of blood.

"I hope I can do th'tuff like that when I'm bigger!"

"Pippi, what did-..."

"Tho'the th'tupid z'thombie people didn't even know what-"

"Pippi, I appreciate it," I said, pulling her away from me and looking into her face "But what exactly did I _do_?"

Pippi looked puzzled.

"You dunno?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

"No, I don't. I have no idea _how_ I did it either, but what exactly did it look like?"

She dug a pinkie into her ear, thinking.

"Well, firth't you kinda th'tarted... acting funny..."

"Funny how?"

"I dunno, I couldn't th'ee you too well. Th'o, you were acting funny, then when you yelled, there wa'th this great big 'Whooth'sh!'," she spread her hands out in a 'whoosh' gesture, "Then the z'thombies went flying!"

"Flying?"

"Uh huh!", she nodded vigorously, "Flying like they got hit by a train!"

I stared at her.

"Then what...?"

"Then you got up and got uth' out.", she explained. "All the z'thombies hit their head'th real bad, th'o they couldn't get uth'!"

She turned to the crypt door and called at it in an annoying, singsong voice.

"You hear that, you th'tupid z'thombies? You can't get uth'! You can't get uth'!"

She blew a raspberry at it, giggling. I just sat there, taking in the words she had said to me.

"Oh, by the way, I got your bath'eball bat," she added, gesturing at the grass beside her. I looked at it, stared for a bit, then looked back. Pippi's freckle-ridden face was still split into a massive grin, oblivious to my pain and confusion.

Then I stood up. It hurt like crazy to move, but I couldn't just sit there the rest of my life.

"Hey, where ya going?", Pippi asked as I turned to pick up my bat.

"Home," I replied simply.

"But what about my mom?"

I stopped.

"Th'e's probably worried th'ick about me!"

"Yeah, she is..."

I can't remember the last time I wanted to be home so badly, but what could I do?

"Okay, come on, kiddo" I sighed, holding out a hand, "I'll take you home."


	4. A Regular Celebrity

In the hour since I had last seen her, Miss Lindgren had apparently worked up the courage to finally move from her backyard. When I found her, she was in the town hall, reporting Pippi's disappearance. I guess she must have known I was full of it when I made my promise.

The instant she caught sight of her mother, Pippi let out a joyous shriek and ran to hug her, nearly tearing my arm off in the process. Miss Lindgren pivoted around, clutching at her chest like she'd just had a heart attack, then, seeing Pippi, burst into tears.

Letting the two of them have their moment, I looked past them toward the man she had been talking to. He was rather meek-looking blonde guy, probably in his twenties, wearing a pinstriped blue suit. On the desk in front of was a name plate that read "Abbott S.", followed by "Mayor's Assistant". He had looked extremely harassed before, but was now glancing between me and the other two with a look of confusion.

"So, I... take it this is Pippi?", he asked me.

I nodded.

"And I take it you're the one to thank for saving her?", he continued, eyeing my injuries.

"No, I just toppled down a mineshaft while walking here."

I know that wasn't cool, especially to somebody working for the mayor, but I wasn't exactly in a stellar mood.

"Alrighty, then. Right this way, please."

He stood up and made a turn for a nearby stairwell.

"Huh...?"

He gestured for me to keep my voice down, keeping a wary eye on the others.

"Mayor's orders, buddy, not mine. Come along, please."

Without another word, he began to walk down the climb the stairs, and I had no choice but to follow.

Normally, I'd have expressed curiosity by now as to why I'm being directed to the mayor right now, but at that point, all I cared about was getting out of there as soon as humanly possible. Abbott led me down a hall without saying a word to me, so my eyes ended up wandering boredly to his nametag. I choked back a laugh.

No wonder he didn't put it on his desk plate. His last name, apparently, was "Sheep".

Mayor A. Goodman, as you'll soon find out, had a very inappropriate name. I'm pretty sure that's how most mayors are, though. As me and Mr. Sheep stepped into his gleaming, sun-filled office, I could tell right away he had a doozy in store for me. Goodman didn't really look like a politician; he honestly looked like a park ranger more than anything, with the exception of his million-and-half dollar smile. I'd seen that look plenty of times on the Mother's Day Times front page; it's the face that meant he was in the middle of a carefully planned-out scheme.

"Ah, so this the man of the hour then?"

He strode over to me and gave my hand a vigorous shake.

"Bit shorter than I expected, but he looks like he'll get the job done just fine!"

"He's just brought the girl in now, sir." explained Abbott. "She's downstairs with her mother."

"Stunning work, lad! I always knew you had it in you!"

I wasn't sure how to react; in case you haven't been paying attention, me and the mayor had not recently met.

"Uh..."

Goodman's toothpaste commercial smile didn't fade, but I saw his expression falter slightly. He leaned in a little closer and began speaking in a hushed, much more serious tone.

"Listen, boy, I need you to play along here. As luck would have it, I'm up for re-election soon, and there's nothing that draws in support more than a story about rescuing a child."

I stared at him, trying to make sense of this. Then, his smile wavering for the first time since I'd entered, he pulled a small wad of money from his pocket and handed it to me. Then the pieces clicked.

"You're kidding me..."

Ignoring this, he crammed the money into my pocket.

"Well, come along, then!", Goodman said, once again jovial and loud. "Let us go meet our grateful company now, shall we?"

He clamped an arm painfully around my shoulders and began parading me back down the hall, crushing the lump of bribe money in my pocket between the two of us. He didn't say anything, but the tightness of his grip gave off a pretty clear message: Mess this up, and I'll make sure you regret it. I glanced back at Abbott, hoping desperately there was something he could do, but apparently there was not. He simply gave me a shrug, as if he understood exactly the way I was feeling, and mouthed the words "I'm sorry."

I wish I'd never laughed at that guy's name...

Goodman greeted Pippi's mother with so much obvious flattery it made me want to puke. I don't know why he bothered; she looked so nervous to be in his presence she probably didn't take in a word of it.

"... and I must say, that is a _lovely _dress you have on there, Miss!", he added for what felt like the third time. "Did you make it yourself?"

All she could do in response was let out a strangled sort of squeak.

"Momma?" piped up a little voice, "When are we gonna go home?"

Goodman's eyes found Pippi, who had been tugging at her mother's sleeve, and his grin widened even further.

"Oh, how sweet. So, this is the little one, then?"

Miss Lindgren nodded. Goodman squatted down in front of Pippi until they were at eye level, like he was an uncle she was meeting for the first time.

"And what is your name, sweetie?"

"I'm Pippi!", she replied, stabbing a thumb enthusiastically into her chest. Goodman chuckled and made a movement as if to pat her on the head, but Miss Lindgren pulled her away.

Well, at any rate," he said, standing up, "I'm just glad I sent our friend here..."

He flung his arm back around my shoulders jovially at those words, then suddenly paused.

"What did you say your name was again, lad?"

"I didn't."

He gave me a warning glare.

"It's Ninten."

Apparently unabashed by the name, he continued on his speech as if there had been no interruption.

"I'm just glad I sent our friend Ninten out there to find her when I did!"

And so, he began to unpack his big bag of lies. He explained to them, in elaborately rehearsed detail, that it had been his idea to send a twelve year old out to find a missing child, instead of somebody more obvious like the police or something. Yeah, don't even ask me how that was supposed to earn him a shoo-in at the upcoming re-election; Goodman could twist anything to make himself look good. Once he had justified his story with claims of "I just had this feeling it'd be best" and his classic "All's well that ends well", I could tell nearly all my credit for rescuing Pippi was gone, and Goodman would now have one more vote come next month. Whether that was a testament to how corrupt Goodman was, or to just how painfully gullible all the residents of Podunk were, I'll let you decide for yourself.

"Mr. Mayor, can I go now?" I blurted, no longer able to remain silent.

Goodman stopped waffling and looked at me, surprised that I'd interrupted.

"Please?"

I had been standing there for over minutes; my patience was officially gone.

"Oh, of course you can, my boy!"

He let me go, and I wasted no time huffing out.

"Be sure to tell your mother to vote for me!"

"Sure, whatever."

The sooner I could get away from that scumbucket, the better.

As soon as I reached the door, though, I felt a tug on my shirt. Pippi still wanted to say something.

"Thank'th for th'aving me", she said with a grin. Several of her teeth were missing. "I don't care what the th'tinky mayor think'th, you were really brave."

In spite of everything, I felt myself grin a little. At least somebody in this town was still sane.

"Don't mention it, kiddo."

"Here, I got th'omething to thank you...

Pippi began digging into her overall pockets for something, but I didn't feel like waiting around to see what it was.

"Pippi, I gotta go."

"Wait, juth't a th'econd!"

She kept looking, but apparently what she was trying to find wasn't with her. My guess was the zombies took it, but I didn't tell her that.

"Aw, poo, I think I left it at my houth'..."

"Pippi, dear!" called a voice, "We need to go!"

"Aw, mom..."

"Better listen to her, Pippi", I said.

She hesitated. Whatever little trinket she was looking for, she really wanted me to have it.

"Look, just send it over with Mimmie and Minnie the next time they come over, okay?"

She considered it, then nodded.

"Okay, I will! Bye!"

She waved, and before I could wave back, she had turned tail and ran. And with her left the dwindling remains of my good mood.

* * *

In hindsight, wish I had gone back into the building right then and there, thrown the bribe back at his stupid face, and told him exactly what I thought about him. I don't care what sort of trouble I'd have gotten in for it; it wouldn't matter much after what happened next. I didn't, though, and as much as I want to tell you it had nothing to do with the fact that I now had a large wad of cash in my pocket, unfortunately that would be another lie. I wasn't getting much allowance at the time, sue me.

I was too beaten up to ride on my bike comfortably, so I ended up having to walk it back. It wasn't too much of a walk, anyway, and in my state of stunned confusion mixed with unpleasant thoughts about Goodman, it felt even shorter.

It was only a short while past lunchtime, so I was actually coming home right when I should have. I began imagining the look on Mom's face when she sees me covered in injuries, how much of a fuss she would raise, and how long it would delay me getting to what I really wanted to talk about. If she even told me anything, that is...

_No_, I told myself, _no more of this doormat business._

A floating lamp was bad enough, but a massive hoard of zombies that came darn near close to killing me was officially my limit. I wouldn't just ask this time, I would _demand _to know exactly what it is that's causing all this craziness. They wouldn't keep hiding things from me after something like this happened, could they?

They probably wouldn't have, but unfortunately, I never made it home to find out.

I was walking with my bike along the crest of a hill, about ten minutes away from home at that point. The road had turned from concrete to gravel when I made my way out of town, then from gravel to dirt as I made my way north toward the houses. Aside from the occasional beech tree, all there was to see on either side was just wild fields of grass, so I kept my attention on the road. This was my mistake; once I let my mood get to me, I failed to notice I was being followed. I was dimly aware of a weird rumbling, like something heavy being rolled over uneven ground, but I didn't even look up until I heard the the ear-rupturing noise. And by then, it was right on top of me.

I was given exactly one second to process what I was looking at. I saw something, a massive wall of silver and blue metal, moving through the field toward the road. I saw two dirt-caked black tires, tearing viciously through the grass in front of them. And the noise I had heard, an ear-rupturing blair that rattled against the bones in my head, I recognized it as a vehicle horn.

I was given exactly one second to take in the sight of a solid blue semi-trailer before I realized it was about to hit me.

I can't really remember what I was thinking in that moment, if anything at all. The the sound of the horn had jolted my mind to a blank.

I must have gone into shock, because the crash didn't hurt like it should have. It felt more like being embedded into a speeding feather mattress than in the bumper of a speeding truck.

_This is it. I'm dead._

My vision had gone blank, but I heard a terrible crunching _s_ound. I thought it must have been my bones, though it sounded more like metal_. _My hand was free from my bike handle_, _and my sneakers were gone from the ground; I was in the open air. I couldn't feel anything, not even the clothes against my skin. My head knocked against something hard, and something hot filled my mouth. Then myback, my shoulders, then open air again...

_I'm dead, the truck killed me, why am I still here?_

I flew again for a second, then started rolling. Rough grass and thorns were cutting scratches into my arms and legs; I felt the scratches, but not the stinging.

_I'm dead. It doesn't hurt because I'm dead._

I was hitting myself against rocks and clods of dirt, bouncing and tumbling like a helpless toy. My leg knocked violently against a boulder and I felt a jolt go through it that almost felt like _pain_.

_... Am I dead?_

I was slowing down; I wasn't turning over anymore. The ground beneath me, I think it was muddy.

_I wouldn't be able to know that if I was dead..._

I skidded into what might have been a puddle of shallow water, tipped halfway onto my side, then fell to my back and was still.

I lay there for what felt like an eternity, unable to feel, to move, or to think. Adrenaline was burning through me like a poison, making every square inch of my body agonizingly numb. My lungs had been knocked completely empty by the crash; I tried to breathe, but I wasn't able to. My first instinct was to reach for my inhaler, but my arms didn't seem to respond. And when I tried to think, all I my stunned brain could manage was a single question: Why am I not dead?

I had seen the thing coming straight toward me, at the speed it was going, there shouldn't be a single unbroken bone left in my body. I'd seen crashes like this on TV; they didn't actually show them, but I knew the victims never got out of it in one piece. And only thing protecting me had been a slightly rusted bicycle; it should be impossible for there to be a heartbeat pounding in my head right now, let alone me being conscious enough to hear it...

At some point, eventually, I opened my eyes.

The sky was nice; very blue with only a few puffy clouds in it. A bird quickly flitted its way into view, then zoomed back into _a _tree. In one of my hands, I still somehow had a slack grip the handle of my bat, while the other was just sprawled out to my side. Recollecting my memories as best I could, I gathered that I must have been thrown down the side of the hill, down into the muck that usually gathered there in spring. Would anybody come looking for me? There hadn't been anybody around when the truck hit me, but it should have been close enough for somebody to hear it. What about the driver? What about my family...?

And as I thought these things, still struggling to breathe or at least regain some sort of feeling in my injured limbs, I became aware of something else: I felt completely exhausted. It had nothing to do with the crash or the fall; I suddenly felt like I'd been keeping myself awake for several days.

I felt scared... Now was I dying? Had I only been spared a few miraculous minutes?

Far off in the distance, or at least that's how it sounded, I heard sirens. Help had arrived. I wanted to call out, but my jaw was just as immovable as my arms. Over the distant sounds, though, I heard something else, something much more pleasant.

The bird I had seen a while ago had flown down and had perched itself on my chest. It stared at me, twitching its little yellow head, as if it could recognize my face. I couldn't really think much anymore, but even still, I knew what sort of bird it was as soon as it began singing.

_If I am dying,_ I thought as my eyes started closing, _then this isn't a bad sound to die listening to._

The last thing I was aware of was a voic_e, _and despite my fading senses, it sounded perfectly clear_._ It was like the one I had heard the day that I saved Mick, except this voice sounded more like it belonged to a girl.

"I'm Laura," it said. "Thank you for saving my baby."

But canaries can't talk. That's just silly.

* * *

I didn't feel like myself anymore. I was taller; the ground beneath me looked further away while the trees above seemed _a _little closer. My limbs felt frail and weak, as if I was a very old man, though somehow, I knew I wasn't. When I paused my walk to wipe sweat from my face, I felt a pair of glasses and an unshaven, scraggly beard. It should have been disorienting to be in control of a body so different than what I was used to, but for some reason, it felt very normal.

I was walking through a dense forest, and judging by the brambles and rabbit holes I kept stepping into, I wasn't on any sort of set path. I didn't seem to have a particular destination in mind, but I was sure I'd know when I was supposed to stop...

Then I was surrounded by chaos. I was staring up at the clear blue sky again, but this time, unfocused shapes kept blurring in and out of it, sometimes blocking it out completely. Voices, dozens and dozens of terrified, panicked voices, were calling out from every direction. Some were shouting, others were screaming, a few of them I think might have been crying. Two of the voices_, _the ones who sounded closest to me, were keeping themselves low and steady, though I could still hear fear in them. I tried to understand what any of them were saying, but all of it just sounded like noise.

I was moving; my body was being supported by something that felt like a bed-sized plank of fabric, and it was being carried urgently forward. Slowly, I recognized another sound, one that was wailing over all the other terrified voices; it was the sirens.

Then, amongst the mass of hysteria and confusion, I heard a voice I could make sense of. A voice that stood out amongst all the rest.

"Let me through, let me through, please! I need to see - _Please_! That's my _son_!"

Her screams of desperation were unlike any of the others. It was as if her very life depended on her making her way through the crowd and reaching me.

"Oh, god, no! No, please not him, no!"

One of the voices closest to me said something, probabl_y_ announcing I that was still alive. The news was repeated by several others until the entire mood of the crowd had shifted. Some sounded relieved, while others just sounded dumbfounded and shocked. And the voice that I was able to understand, the voice that belonged to my mother, began weeping...

Then I was back in the woods. I had quickened my pace to a steady jog, making my tired lungs wheeze slightly with every breath. I ignored this, though; wherever I was going, it was too important for me to stop, even for only a moment. The hot fire of obsession was powering me as I walked further and further into the woods. It let me ignore the underbrush clawing at my legs, forget about the horrible sweat that was making me stick to my clothing, and made it easy to pretend that my throat wasn't desperately crying for water. All I cared about, all I seemed able to think about, was reaching my destination, and reaching it as soon as possible. It was a maniacal sort of feeling, detached and almost frightening, since I had no idea who I was or why I was feeling it. But it kept me going, and I wasn't about to let it stop.

My breathing had become ragged and harsh; a strand of spit ran from my mouth and I didn't bother wiping it off. It had to be close now, it had to be...

Then I pulled back a branch and - there it was.

But the instant I found it, the instant I felt a massive surge of joy at the sight of what I'd been searching for, my surroundings changed once again...

I felt incredibly groggy, like how it feels on mornings when I accidentally leave the alarm on during the weekend, but that was the least of my concerns. I felt horrendously sick; like I had just chugged down an entire gallon of ocean water. My throat and lips were sticky with thirst, but my stomach felt salty and sore.

I was still lying on something flat, though it was much softer and cozier than the other one had been. Instead of the madness I had been in before, everything was completely quiet, save for a quiet tapping that meant a clock with a second hand was nearby. It was also very dark; when I managed to get my eyes open, I could only barely make out a featureless dropped ceiling.

I wanted to return to the woods; the obsession I had felt while there was still lingering in me, even if it still made no sense. Perhaps it was just natural curiosity; whatever or wherever it was that I had wanted to get to so badly, it must be worth at least getting a look at.I tried closing my eyes and steadying my breath, neither of which was that difficult, trying to coax myself to sleep. But my head and body still ached, so sleep didn't seem too eager to return.

A spider about the size of my thumb was crawling slowly up the wall. It was almost invisible, but I was able to make out its movement. I watched as it made its way to a light on the ceiling, paus_e _for a moment, as if getting its bearings, then beg_i_n spinning a web. With nothing else interesting to look at, I decided to watch...

I wasn't in the woods anymore. Instead, I was hurrying through somewhere narrow and dark. Cold stone scraped against my hands and shins, but once again, I took no notice. My only concern was reaching what I'd came here for, and I was close, so very close...

With a trembling hand far bigger than the ones I was used to controlling, I reached into my coat. It found a pocketed tube of metal, like a very weird sort of flashlight, pulled it out into the dusty air, and clicked it on. It produced a light that was feeble, but enough to provide illumination. My heart pounding, I looked frantically at every corner of the cave, searching... It must be here... it must...

Then I saw it. I saw what I had been searching for, and it had been practically under my nose. It was a rock. A weather-worn, slightly larger than average rock. Nothing whatsoever remarkable about it.

A small part of me, maybe the part that was aware I was still lying in a comfy bed right now, couldn't help but feel a bit let down at this. The rest of me, however, felt quite different.

With as much care and reverence one would give when being presented with their newborn child, I reached out toward the stone. My hands look calloused and pale, but again, not wrinkled as if I was old. My fingers slowly caressed the rough surface, taking in every detail of it. A strangled laugh rose from my throat, and I realized just how weak my voice sounded. After I had finished taking in the all wonder of this seemingly unassuming boulder, I pulled several more several more instruments from the depths of my coat pockets, ones I couldn't identify, and began working.

It was sort of like watching Dad when he worked on something in the garage; you haven't got the slightest idea what he was doing or how anything he was using worked, but you were still compelled to watch every detail of it. Even from behind the eyes of this person, who I was beginning to distinguish more and more from myself as the dream went on, I still had no clue what I was doing, but it was almost hypnotic to look at. I tapped the stone, took measurements, waited, jotted down notes in a book of paper, waited, traced invisible lines, paced up and down the cave, then waited some more. I had been staring blankly at it for at least ten minutes when, with a note of triumph and finality, I pulled up a tiny chisel and hammer. The carving I made filled the entire face of the stone, making it clearly visible, even in the cave's poor light. It did not take long for me to to finish, because it was very simple; even a little kid could tell you what it looked like: two very tall, identical letter X's.

* * *

When I woke up again, I knew it was probably for good this time. There was soft light filling up the room now, and even though I still felt horrible, I finally had the energy to sit up.

Predictably enough, I was in a sterile white hospital room. My red hat was sitting on a desk by my bed, but otherwise, there wasn't much around for me to look at. Considering the fact that I had been hit by a truck, you would think I would be hooked up to a lot of scary equipment or in a mummy wrap of bandages or something, but neither of those were the case. A few of the cuts I'd received from the zombies had gotten a stitch or two in them, but otherwise, I might as well have been napping.

I didn't want to stay lying there; I wanted to find somebody, ask them what had happened and where my family was, but when I tried to stand, the pain in my head reached such a peak I had to immediately sit down again. These wishes didn't go unmet long, though; after maybe five minutes of me just sitting there with a palm to my forehead, the door opened.

"Oh... We weren't expecting you up this early, dearie."

The nurse sounded concerned, but not to the extent she would have been if I had been seriously injured. Which was nice, the last thing I wanted right now was somebody fussing over me.

I tried to say something, ask her one of the million questions that were sweltering in my head, but all that came out was a dry croaking noise.

"Water?", she offered.

I nodded, pressing my fingers harder against my hair.

As I gratefully chugged down cup after styrofoam cup of water, spilling it down my front now and then in my rush, a doctor came in and started looking me over. You know, checking things like my heart rate and such, anything that might get rattled up a bit when you are hit by a speeding truck. That was fine, just as long as they kept getting me refills. As she did this, I guess the doctor must have predicted half the questions I already had in mind, because she started answering them without me even having to ask.

To begin with, no, none of them had an explanation as to how I was still alive. They had looked over all the information gathered from the crash, and had come to the same conclusion time and time again; the medical odds of me getting out of it with functional brain activity was somewhere in the point-zeroes. It's not that they weren't happy I was alive or anything, but still; they're doctors, they're supposed to always have answers about this sort of thing. However, that was only scratching the surface of how strange a case the accident had been. From every conceivable angle, practically nothing about it made any sense.

For example, it turns out me being alive was actually not what the doctors were the most confused about, if you can believe it. What baffled them more was the fact that I had apparently received no physical injuries from it whatsoever. I did get battered up pretty bad when I fell down the hillside, but as far as they could tell, the actual collision literally hadn't left a scratch on me. Even the eighteen hours of unconsciousness I had just been through hadn't been because of a head injury or anything. I had simply been in a very deep sleep due to the sudden fatigue I had felt afterwards - and they couldn't explain that to me either.

It gets weirder, though - not only had I been left practically untouched by the accident, but on top of that, the exact opposite seemed to have happened to the truck. I saw pictures of it afterwards; you could have sworn all the damage that should have been inflicted on me had instead been dealt to the semi-trailer. The entire front had been crushed violently inward, bending the metal and sending cracks through all the windows. And it wasn't just a kid-and-bike shaped dent in the front of it, either; it looked almost exactly how it would have looked if it had run head-on into a flat wall of bricks.

"So, what happened to the driver?" I asked, trying to absorb all of this in.

"That's the biggest mystery of all," said the doctor as she checked my eyes. "We can't seem to find him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean whoever was driving the truck should have been crushed in the wreckage, but we can't find so much as a hair on the dashboard."

"In fact," the nurse said with a mildly amused tone, "the actual owner of the truck showed up at the crash site thirty minutes afterwards, demanding to know who had wrecked it. It was on TV, you should have seen his face when they told him."

She chuckled to herself as I sat there, stunned.

"So... there was nobody driving the truck?" I said slowly, hoping I'd misunderstood, "At all?"

"As far as we can tell, yes."

Just like the lamp had done, hurtling itself at my head with no discernible force guiding it. In less than a day, the force that was apparently going to destroy the world, the force that I was apparently supposed to stop, had upgraded from throwing around electrical appliances to throwing around twenty-ton vehicles.

"More water, dear?" asked the nurse, taking my silence as an indication to speak.

I didn't look up or say anything, but I held the cup out anyway. Even though my thoughts were far away, some part of me was still bent on mindlessly rehydrating myself.

"Well, they'll call me crazy," said the doctor as she put away her last tool, "But aside from all those bumps you got, you're in perfect health. You should be out of here before the day is up, after you've rested yourself a bit."

She smiled at me, like should have made me happy. It should have, yes, but it didn't.

"You've got quite the line-up of visitors outside, if you wanted to let any of them in." she continued, the smile fading at my continued silence. "Most of them are from the news, though."

"You've become quite the regular celebrity, sonny," said the nurse, "Even the mayor himself popped in, so I heard. I can only imagine what the headlines are going to say..."

But I did not care what the headlines were going to say, nor did I wish to talk to anybody from the news. And I think I'd rather get turned into roadkill again than have another conversation with the mayor. The only thing I wanted right then, more than I can remember wanting it in my entire life, was to be alone. Alone, and with one other person.

"Is my mom out there?" I asked.


End file.
